Fragments Of Five Long Years
by OutCold
Summary: "I finally got the bastard," he grinned. Lisbon blinked back tears and smiled. ----- For Jane the success is more lasting than anyone thought possible, for Lisbon, so is the pain, even as she moves on.


**Disclaimer: This wouldn't happen if I owned it. I don't, so I get to play around. **

**A/N: I would dedicate this to Tiva4evaxxx, but I think she'd murder me if I did. :P Oh, and I'm so sorry. I'm so so so sorry. **

**A/N2: If you look a couple of lines down, you're going to see a naughty word. That's as bad as it gets, sorry I didn't rate T but I didn't think it was worth it. **

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Patrick Jane's clouded green eyes brightened with clarity as a thought seemed to hit him.

"I finally got the bastard," he grinned.

Lisbon blinked back tears and smiled weakly. "Yeah," she said quietly, but not nearly so quietly as her following whisper of, "Five years ago."

His eyes dulled again, though a shadow of his smile remained. "I'm sorry," he said, and his tone was so disarmingly Jane-like that Lisbon could almost forget anything had happened. "I think I might know you from somewhere, but never was much one for faces…"

She put her hand on his, which surprised him, but he didn't object.

"Don't worry about it," she said. Long past were the days that she'd try to explain to him who she was, and how he knew her. He would simply look confused until Red John came up, then with that sickening happiness tell her again that he'd got the bastard.

Her non-explanation didn't seem to satisfy him, traces of the old Jane were determined not to leave the mystery unsolved.

"No, I'll get it, I promise. You're not a producer, are you? A director maybe?"

This was also a conversation they'd had too many times for Lisbon's liking. For some reason he would recall details from his life as a TV psychic, but if she mentioned the CBI would immediately look blank and occasionally, on the worst days, tell her she must be thinking of someone else.

Once, when she'd still been in denial, and he'd still been in hospital, she'd brought him a team photograph.

"_No," he murmured weakly. "No," he said again, stronger now. _

"_Yes," she said, scared of his response but at the same time overjoyed she was getting any response._

_Jane violently threw the frame at the opposite wall, the glass smashed and it fell to the floor, leaving a dent in the plaster._

"_Jane," she pleaded. "Patrick, please."_

"_Get out," he'd said, voice low and dangerous, pointing at the door. "Out."_

_She'd gathered the photo and the remains of it's frame, taking the broken pieces but tentatively laying the image on the table beside his bed before rushing out the door. _

_Jane, furious hot tears running down his cheeks, angrily tore the paper into little squares, only stopping when the fragments were too small to hold. _

Now he'd been moved to this place, given medicine to keep him placid, given crosswords and other stupid games to keep him 'entertained'. But the worst thing was he wasn't even unhappy about it.

One stupid bullet had stolen Patrick Jane, grazed the side of his brain and taken him away forever – but not killed him, no, that would have been too kind.

For a year or two she'd been grateful for his life, more grateful than she could put into words, but now… now she'd realised, now she knew that this wasn't life, it certainly wasn't his life, this stupid plastic world.

The only time she'd been called to be informed he'd broken the rules – she'd entered herself as his next of kin – she had been hopeful more than anything else, because a Jane who broke rules sounded a lot more like a Jane she would recognise. But his 'rule-breaking' had been an innocent wander in the grounds, and a failure to remember he had to return by dinner time.

He was staring questioningly at her, and she broke out of her train of thought.

"No," she smiled. "Not a producer or a director."

He winced. "I didn't read your mind, did I? Or contact a dead relative?"

He still seemed slightly ashamed of his fraudulent job, always uncomfortable when he asked her this.

"No, you didn't," she honestly replied.

"Excuse me, Ms?" she heard behind her, and turned to see a nurse.

"Agent," she snapped, unnecessarily harsh.

"Right, yeah… I'm afraid I have to ask you to leave now."

Lisbon stood. "I'll come visit you again next week, okay Patrick?"

He smiled vapidly up at her. "I look forward to it."

On impulse, she gently kissed his cheek, and then turned away. She rubbed at the faint moisture on her cheeks as she all but ran to the exit.

A car was waiting, and she slid into the passenger side.

"Hey," said the driver. He was dark haired and tall, with a gaunt face and friendly blue eyes. "How was he?"

She sighed. "Same as always. Did you have a good day?"

Carter began to answer, allowing Lisbon to become lost in a world that seemed a lifetime ago, smiling and twisting her wedding band.

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**And again - sorry?**


End file.
